


The Gift

by fhsa_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-30
Updated: 2006-09-30
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Unapologetic Rat!Angst for Gaby's birthday.





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Warnings: Language, m/m interaction, spanking/discipline implied. If you're underage in your jurisdiction, go read something else.

Status: New/Complete

Archive: FHSA, WWOMB, anyone else please ask first

Feedback: Yes, please.

Thanks: To HollyIlex for beta. I also owe a big hug and a thank you to Alex for sneak previewing and insightful comments as always. Special thanks to Ruth for repeated readings and story help. Her comments and suggestions helped make this a far better story than it would have been.

Summary: Unapologetic Rat!Angst for Gaby's birthday.

Dedication: Happy Birthday Gaby! I couldn't send you a mint chocolate chip sundae, so I sent you a green-eyed Rat instead.

 

 

The Gift

by Lorelei

 

 

The alarm goes off again and I reach out blindly for the clock, whacking it savagely until it stops screaming. 

 

And I thought the skills I learned in my former occupation wouldn't come in handy.

 

The afternoon sunlight streams in through the window. I groan and throw the covers over my head, reminding myself never to drink on an empty stomach again. 

 

And window shades. Definitely need some window shades.

 

I'm already sliding back into blissful unconsciousness. Maybe if I'm really lucky, I can get back into that dream I was having. Fuck, was it hot. My cock is still half-hard from it and if I wasn't so fucking tired I'd-

 

Wait.

 

_Afternoon?_

 

Aw, fuck!

 

I bolt upright in bed like something jabbed me in the ass. I fumble for the clock, accidentally knocking it down behind the rickety little table I use for a nightstand. I reach down, feeling for it. I don't have another hand to hang on with and I'm perilously close to falling out of bed, but my knees _really_ don't feel like getting down on that hard floor right now. 

 

Another one for the list: Rug. I should get one.

 

Finally I fish the damn thing out. It dangles from its cord, smugly flashing the time from its smudged and battered screen.

 

12:37.

 

FUCK!

 

I jump out of bed and race to the bathroom. I turn on the taps in the shower, knowing it'll take a minute or two to get hot water. Brushing my teeth is an awkward process. I don't have my arm on and it'll take too much time to put it on twice, so I decide to skip it until after my shower. It's not easy, but by balancing the brush on the sink and squeezing the toothpaste tube with my good hand, I get the job done.

 

I rinse quickly and hit the shower. The water's barely lukewarm but what the hell. I've got to move my ass or I'll be late and that can't happen.

 

It's not often these days that I have to be somewhere on time. It's a strange feeling. In my old line of work, you literally lived and died by the clock. A few seconds one way or the other could make all the difference. Think I'm being melodramatic? Show up late at your job and what are they going to do? Dock your pay? If I wasn't where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there, I'd get more than a few bucks taken out of me, I can tell you.

 

I whip the shower curtain back and dry myself one-handed, then haul ass over to the bureau and start yanking out drawers. It doesn't really matter what I wear, which is fortunate as I don't have much to choose from. I tell myself it's a smart old habit I was wise to hang on to. Travel lightly and all that. I don't travel much anymore but it sure sounds better than admitting that my clothing budget isn't quite what it used to be.

 

I've lived in better places, too, but this isn't so bad. It's small, but the window helps, even if all I have to look out at is a brick wall and some battered garbage cans. The landlord couldn't understand why I didn't want to at least look at the cheaper unit in the basement, but I just shook my head. No thanks.

 

I could piss and moan about the reduced circumstances I currently find myself in, but it could be worse.

 

I'm alive. I'm out of the game. And that's a lot more than my former employers can say.

 

Ah, fuck that memory lane stuff. I'm in too good a mood. 

 

A few minutes later, I've got my arm strapped on and I'm dressed. Jeans, boots, white T. My hair is almost dry and I run my fingers through it, spiking it a little. Thank God messy hair is in. At least that's what it says in the _GQ_ magazine I steal out of my neighbor's mailbox every month.

 

Aw, come on. I put it back when I'm done.

 

I grab my jacket off the chair and slip into it. I glance at the clock. Five minutes to one. Shit. I grab the bottle of champagne out of the fridge and tuck it under my arm. I'm usually a six-pack kind of guy, but it's a special occasion, after all. 

 

I slam the door and take the stairs two at a time. I push open the battered metal door downstairs and stride up the sidewalk, glad that for once I got a parking spot on this block. My old black Mustang is parked right where I left it, with all four wheels still present and accounted for. Yep, things are definitely looking up.

 

I hop in and fire her up, then peel out into midday traffic. I blast through a yellow light and head for the interstate on-ramp. I'll have to drive with one eye on the road and the other eye out for the cops, but I'm pretty sure I can make an hour drive in about forty-five minutes. 

 

Late for Mulder's fortieth birthday party? Not a fucking chance.

 

They bought the place in the country about a year ago, after Skinner retired and Mulder quit the Bureau to start his own paranormal investigations outfit. I've been out there lots of times. It's a big old house nestled at the foot of the Blue Ridge, with a huge back deck looking out over rolling green hills. There's a good-sized stream cutting through the property, and it's not unusual to catch Skinner out there doing a little fly-fishing in the summertime. 

 

I wasn't surprised that they ended up together. It made sense in a lot of ways. The only thing that really surprised me was finding out that old Stoneface Skinner is a party animal at heart. 

 

Believe me, the man _loves_ parties. Birthdays, holidays, the freaking anniversary of the Roswell crash. Man, that was one to remember. Even Mulder's jaw dropped when he saw the ten foot high light-up alien waving from the roof. Skinner had a live band out there that night, too. They were pretty good. Loud. Good thing the closest neighbors are a couple of miles away. 

 

Last Fourth of July was really something special. The deck railing was strung with paper lanterns in red, white and blue, and there were little flags everywhere. Skinner loves any excuse to fire up that gigantic grill of his and this was no exception. You should have seen him in his cardboard Uncle Sam hat, grilling up burgers and hot dogs. That's one hallmark of a Skinner/Mulder party: food. You never saw so much of it in your life. They could have easily fed an army. If you didn't want a burger or a hot dog, you had steak, salmon and even lobster tails to choose from. A long table ran down one side of the deck, piled with rolls, potato salad, chips and baked beans. There were huge steel tubs filled to the brim with cold beer on ice, and for dessert, an enormous cake with sparklers on top.

 

Then it was time for the main event.

 

Mulder wanted fireworks like the ones he remembered seeing when he was a little boy, a big show. But fireworks are illegal in Virginia. The only way Skinner could get a permit was if he had a professional pyrotechnics company come in and do it. He got some company from Philly to come in, cost him fifteen grand. Good thing the man invested well, if you know what I'm saying. Well, that and the trust fund Mulder's mother left him. There's more money in it than either of them will ever live to spend. Skinner grumbled a little about the price tag but it was hard to take him seriously with that grin on his face. Mulder wanted fireworks, he got fireworks. Everyone put down their plates and walked down into the back field to watch. It was one hell of a show. I felt like a little kid myself, craning my neck, watching until the very last spark winked out in the night sky.

 

I think Christmas is my favorite though. They really do it up right. Lights twinkling on the roof, Christmas carols playing, and a huge tree right in the front window. Oh yeah, and the presents. The first time I went out there for Christmas, I thought they must have emptied every shopping mall in a hundred mile radius. I swear the boxes were stacked four feet high. It's kind of funny to see them, each trying to outdo the other. 

 

And what did I tell you about the food? One look at their holiday table and you think you're in some movie on the Hallmark channel. Turkey, goose _and_ ham. Chestnut stuffing. Three kinds of casserole, four kinds of vegetables, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, hot rolls and butter. For dessert, there's pies, cakes and even real English plum pudding. I swear you can smell the aroma from their kitchen from a mile away. The candles glow softly and the crystal and the china sparkle, and everyone laughs and talks and Mulder gets up and makes a goofy toast, and then Skinner douses the plum pudding with brandy and lights it, and everyone ahhs and claps, their faces rosy in the candlelight.

 

I'm still smiling at the memory as I park the car and walk across the grass. It's a cool day but not cold, pretty typical for mid-October. Sweater weather, I guess they call it. When I finally get close to the house, I can hear music and voices coming from the back deck. I grin. I like the outdoor parties best.

 

I walk through the trees at the edge of their property, ducking under branches. I'm glad for the soft carpet of pine needles under my boots, muting the crunch of the dead leaves. Ah, there's my spot. I check it out cautiously, looking for any sign that my hiding place has been discovered. Everything looks the same as I left it. Good. I hunker down, my knees protesting a little. I rub them with my one hand. I was kind of hard on them when I was younger and they're paying me back for it now. At least it's not winter. Last Christmas I had on two pair of long underwear under my jeans and I still hobbled like an old man when I made my way back to the car through the early-morning frost. 

 

I get as comfortable as possible, glad for the cover of the low-lying bushes at the edge of the trees. I've got a good view of the back deck and it looks like the party is just getting started.

 

Don't look at me like that. What did you think, I got an engraved invitation?

 

Fuck. I know what it looks like, okay? Alex Krycek, the ratbastard himself, skulking in the bushes while the decent folk try to enjoy their party. No doubt, even now, I am plotting ways to construct weapons out of pinecones and twigs.

 

Or maybe you just think I'm pathetic. Poor little Alex, huddled in the woods like Tiny fucking Tim, looking in on a world he can never be a part of. Yeah, yeah. I get it.

 

Look…I know I don't belong here. I know they wouldn't want me here. I don't feel good about it, but I fucking need it, okay? I'm not hurting anybody. I just like to watch and listen and I…I just like it here. That's not so bad, is it?

 

Skinner's got a big banner up across the back of the house that says FOX IS FORTY in bright red letters. I chuckle. I bet Skinner's going to hear about that one later. Forty years hasn't made Foxy like his first name any better. 

 

Looks like just about everyone is here. There's Scully. Got a new boyfriend every week, it seems. The Ice Queen sure became a hot ticket once she quit the Fibbie job and went into private practice. This week's model looks like a banker or a stockbroker or something. He fidgets and looks uncomfortable as Mulder's three geek friends try to beat one another to the beer. The little bug-eyed one gets there first, shoving the other two back and snapping "Back off, losers! Let Fro show you how to tap a keg!" The banker gives them a disdainful look, oblivious to Scully's look of total exasperation. Nope, don't give this one long.

 

There's Skinner's brothers and sisters, tall and sturdy like him. Skinner stops working the grill long enough to turn and call out "Be careful!" as his nieces and nephews race by, chasing each other. He goes back to grilling and my stomach rumbles as the smell of barbecued chicken drifts over to me. Looks like he's got some corn on the cob going too, and jacket potatoes. My eyes wander up to Skinner's shoulders, his muscles bunching and moving under his shirt as he reaches for his basting brush. I stare for a minute and then tell myself it's those thick steaks he's slapping on the grill that are making my mouth water.

 

And there's the birthday boy himself, moving across the deck in that unconsciously graceful way of his. He's got a big grin on his face as he grabs Scully around the waist, lifting her off her feet in a big bear hug. I hear her delighted laughter and his teasing and it makes me smile. He puts her down and stands there, the breeze ruffling his dark hair, making it fall into his eyes. I forget everything else for a moment and just watch him, all long, lean lines in his jeans and T-shirt. 

 

He's so fucking beautiful.

 

I sit and listen to them talk, all of them. Their voices rise and blend into a soft babble, broken by the occasional laugh or shout. The kids run around in the back field, their high-pitched squeals joining the mix. I like the sounds here. I replay them in my head at night sometimes, just before I fall asleep. Mulder's standing by Skinner's side now, whispering something in his ear. Skinner throws his head back and laughs, then delivers a healthy swat to the seat of Mulder's jeans. Skinner wags a finger sternly and points at the grill, but he's grinning. Mulder laughs and walks away, tossing a look over his shoulder that makes me catch my breath.

 

Fuck the steaks, Skinner. Let 'em burn. 

 

I would. 

 

I lean back a little and rest my back against a tree, watching them. I think about winter coming and it makes me morose. The cold gets to me, makes the phantom pain worse. And of course it's harder for me when they're indoors. I have to get closer and it's risky. Last Christmas, I was sure I'd get caught, lurking near their window, but I wanted to see. I found a good spot right beside the chimney where I could hide in the shadows. I could see right into their living room and watch them open their gifts. It was fucking freezing. After the first hour I couldn't feel my fingers and toes anymore but I just couldn't leave. I wanted to be with them, even if they didn't know I was there. I was almost sure they'd see my frozen breath drifting up past the window, but they were so lost in one another, I don't think they even remembered that there was a world outside. 

 

It's a lot harder when they're in the kitchen. That side of the house is too exposed for me to get close. It sucks not being able to see but at least I can hear, thanks to the bugs I planted. It's cheap equipment, nothing like what I used to be able to get, but I can hear almost everything and it makes me feel good, like they're with me, somehow.

 

I know it's a shitty thing to do, okay? I'm not proud of it. But I need this. So I tell myself I'm protecting them, protecting Mulder, just like I used to. I know it's self-deluding bullshit, but fuck, I just put them in the living room and the dining room and the kitchen. I didn't even go near the bedroom. That's got to count for something, right?

 

Everyone's eating now, sitting at the long wooden table in the middle of the deck. Skinner's got tiny lights strung up over it. There's laughter and many toasts to Mulder, who's sitting at the head of the table with a purple party hat perched jauntily on his head. Skinner's party hat is bright yellow. He circles the table with a plate of steaming corn on the cob, making sure everyone's plate stays piled high.

 

My stomach growls loudly and I look longingly at the full plates just a few yards away. Oh, well. I do have champagne, even if it's the cheap stuff. I put the bottle between my knees and wrap my hand around the cork. There's an art to this, whether it's Dom Perignon or a twelve-dollar special from the 7-11. You can't force it. You have to stroke it like a lover. I squeeze and ease the cork out gently, guiding it with my thumb. Finally, it opens with a soft pop. I smile. The Englishman taught me that. I can still hear his elegant voice, gentle and firm at the same time.

 

"No, no, Alex. Twist the bottle, not the cork. Do it again, and remember: a gentleman knows how to open a bottle of champagne and never spill a drop."

 

Damn, I miss that old man sometimes. He wasn't like Spender. He didn't treat me like a thug. He taught me things, good things. Those were a happy few months for me. Then he got blown up and that was over.

 

A cheer goes up from the deck and I look up to see Skinner and his brother carrying out a card table. It's piled with presents in every size and shape. Mulder tries to look cool but his eyes sparkle like a little boy's. I take a swig of champagne and can't help wincing at the taste. Jesus, this stuff is awful.

 

Skinner raises his glass, which I imagine contains a much finer vintage than the one being sampled by yours truly.

 

"To the man I love. May your birthday be as happy as all the days you have given me, and all the days to come."

 

Mulder stands and they kiss. It's a deep kiss, tender and gentle. They break apart reluctantly, as if suddenly remembering that there are other people present. Mulder raises his own glass and grins. Everyone claps and whistles. My eyes water and I scrub my hand over them. It's just this fucking cheap champagne, all right? It's sour as hell.

 

I watch a little longer, wondering when they'll get to the presents. There's a few more toasts and Mulder laughs uproariously as the three geeks perform an impromptu rap. Huh. The blond beaky one can really dance. Mulder is finally led over to the gift table and stands there, rubbing his hands together theatrically as he tries to decide which to open first.

 

I'm rooting for the big one in the middle, the one with the bright polka dots and the big red bow. I don't know what it is but it must be something pretty good. He reaches for it and suddenly I hear the first fat drops of rain pattering on the leaves.

 

Fuck!

 

The rain starts falling harder and they're all on their feet, bustling around, trying to get everything moved indoors. Skinner and his brother grab the card table and scoot it back into the kitchen, followed by Scully and her boyfriend, each with a platter of food. The others follow suit, their excited voices carrying to me on the damp air, and then they're gone, the door slamming shut behind them.

 

I'm alone again, just me and the woods and the rain. I mutter a curse and reach into my jacket. I pull out the transmitter and turn it on, settling the earpiece in place. I twist the little dial until it practically comes off in my hand, but all I can hear is static.

 

Goddamn cheap piece of shit!

 

I sit for a moment, just looking at the empty deck and the small square of yellow light from the kitchen window. Tears sting my eyes and I wipe them away angrily. I cradle the bottle of horsepiss they laughingly call champagne and look down at the soggy leaves between my boots. I'm already soaked and I'm starting to shiver but I don't care. What fucking difference does it make? All I can think about is how much I wanted to see Mulder open his presents.

 

I sit there a little longer, then finally accept that it's time to go. I upend the champagne bottle, watching the vile stuff make a foamy puddle in the brown leaves. It was cheap shit but it was the best I could afford, and even that took all the money I had. What the hell, I'll eat next week. I stand up slowly, flexing my knees, not looking forward to the long drive back. 

 

My place always seems so quiet after I've been here. I sigh. Doesn't matter anyway. It's not gonna be my place much longer. Rent's due the day after tomorrow. Yeah, I should have put away a little something when times were good, but you know how it is. Young assassin, thinks he's going to be on top forever. I shove my hand in my pocket, feeling an uncomfortable twinge of guilt at stiffing the landlord. He's been decent to me, giving me a break on the rent in exchange for helping him out around the place. I didn't even have to do that much, aside from breaking up the odd fight or convincing a recently evicted tenant to let go of the past and move on. What can I say, I'm a persuasive guy.

 

Too bad I don't take my own advice. The thought of packing up my own few things and moving again depresses me, but fuck, you'd think I'd have learned by now not to get attached.

 

I shiver and huddle down in my jacket. I close my eyes and feel the rain on my face and I wonder what the hell I'm doing here. Why I'm doing this to myself. Why I ever thought I could make it in their world.

 

Fuck. It would be so easy. I've still got my Glock. I've sold a lot in my life; my pride, my loyalty, my ass. But my gun? I'd sell my fucking arm first. Give me one day and I'll have enough to get out of town. Two days and I'll have enough to get out of the country. London, Moscow, who the fuck cares. A talented boy with a good gun hand can always find work. Maybe I can forget. Maybe I can put enough distance between them and me that there's no coming back, ever. 

 

I take a long last look at the house and Mulder's birthday banner, now wet and sagging in the rain. Then I turn to go. 

 

Mulder and Skinner are blocking my path.

 

I squawk in a manner completely unbefitting a trained assassin and stumble backwards, landing hard on my ass in a pile of wet leaves. Mulder and Skinner take a step toward me. I scramble back against the tree, looking back and forth between them, panicked.

 

"I wasn't…I didn't…"

 

They look at one another and then reach down, each grasping an arm. Wordlessly, they haul me to my feet and start dragging me toward the house. I twist and struggle but it's no use. They drag me up the steps and across the deck, my boots scraping and sliding on the slick wood.

 

"Just…just let me go," I plead as Skinner's big hand digs harder into my upper arm. "I won't come back, I swear, just don't-"

 

Mulder opens the kitchen door and shoves me inside. Conversation ceases and everyone turns to look at me. I stand there, dripping, panting, my heart trying to pound right out of my chest. For one long moment I am paralyzed with fear and then my survival instincts kick in. I spin around and make for the door. Skinner grabs me by the collar and effortlessly hauls me back. He gives me a shake that makes my teeth rattle and growls, "That's enough, boy." He yanks a kitchen chair out from the table and sits me down in it, hard.

 

I look up at him. He looms over me, ready to slam me back down if I try to get up. I'm shaking from fear and adrenaline and I don't know what the fuck's going on but they're all _staring_ at me with these big fucking smiles on their faces and…

 

_Smiles?_

 

Scully is the first to break the silence.

 

"It's about time," she says with a laugh. "How much longer were you going to leave him out there?"

 

"Well," Skinner says, giving me a look, "we were hoping he'd come in on his own."

 

I look at him in shock.

 

"You…you _what_?" I squeak.

 

They laugh. I look around the room and see it on their faces. The geek squad, Scully, even her tight-assed boyfriend. They're all in on it. One of Skinner's little nieces pokes her head around the corner, looking at me with wide eyes.

 

"Is that the man from the woods, Uncle Walter?"

 

Her mother quickly retrieves her and they disappear back into the living room.

 

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

 

This is too much. I can't fucking take this. I can take them hating me. I can even take them beating the hell out of me, which is assuredly the next item on the afternoon's agenda. But I can't take them laughing at me. I won't. It hurts too fucking much.

 

I stand up quickly, almost knocking the chair over. I'm breathing hard and I can feel the heat in my face. I'm cold and wet and pissed off and fucking _humiliated_ and I am getting the fuck out of here if I have to go through the both of them to do it.

 

I take a step forward, my fist balled up, ready for a fight. Skinner goes to grab me but Mulder puts a hand on his shoulder. Skinner gives me a warning look but he stops. Mulder steps toward me and I tense, waiting for the blow. 

 

But he doesn't hit me. He just looks at me with such kindness in his eyes that I want to burst into tears on the fucking spot. God, Mulder, don't do this to me. Don't look at me like that. Go ahead, hit me. I deserve it. But don't…don't look at me like you care because I can't take it.

 

"I do care," he says softly, and I close my eyes, feeling my face burn brighter. I said that _out loud_? Oh God please kill me now.

 

He reaches for me and I back up. He keeps coming and I keep backing up until I'm right up against the wall. He smiles at me, radiating understanding and reassurance. I've never been so terrified in my life. If I could burrow right through this wall I'm plastered against, I'd do it.

 

What are they _doing_? If they're going to beat me, let them fucking beat me, but this…this is torture. I can't do this. I can't. My heart makes a serious effort to tear itself loose from my chest and I tremble, wondering how they know, how they _know_ this is the worst fucking thing they could do to me. 

 

"I'm not going to hit you, Alex," he says in that same soothing tone. "It's all right. Don't be afraid."

 

I tilt up my chin and glare at him, but my intended growl comes out sounding more like a whimper.

 

"I'm n-not."

 

"Good," he says, clearly not believing me. "Why don't you come back and sit down so we can talk."

 

I look at him nervously. Skinner comes to stand beside him, his arm around Mulder's shoulders.

 

"Come on, Alex," he says gently. "Fox is right. No one's going to hurt you. We just want to talk."

 

Fox? _Alex_? Am I in the fucking Twilight Zone here?

 

Mulder pulls the chair back up to the table and steps back.

 

"Please," he says simply.

 

I hesitate, glancing around the room. They all seem to be holding their breath, watching me. Waiting to see what I'll do.

 

Biting my lip, I step slowly away from the wall. I hear a collective sigh of relief as I sink down into the chair.

 

Mulder and Skinner pull up chairs opposite me. I stare at the floor, one hand gripping my jacket tightly around me.

 

Someone puts a cup of hot tea down in front of me. I look up.

 

It's Scully.

 

"Here," she says with a smile. "Don't want you getting hypothermia." She looks at Skinner and Mulder. "Make sure you get him out of those wet clothes," she adds sternly.

 

Skinner grins in a way that makes me shiver and it's not from the rain.

 

"Oh, we will," he says. "You can count on that."

 

I gulp and look at him in amazement. Mulder's grinning too. Scully gives him a sisterly smack and then gathers up her sweater and purse.

 

"I think we'd better get back to the city," she says, her eyes twinkling. "Let's go, Henry."

 

The banker quickly follows her out the door.

 

The three geeks sit at the other end of the table, staring at me. Mulder clears his throat a couple of times before the one in the suit finally gets the hint.

 

"We'd better be getting back, too," he says, standing up and pushing his chair neatly up against the table. "Come on, guys."

 

Beaky and Bug-Eyes keep staring at me. I attempt a menacing look but my tough-guy routine is decidedly soggy around the edges. After a moment, they give in to Suit's prodding and reluctantly follow him out the door. 

 

Skinner looks at Mulder.

 

"Keep an eye on him."

 

I slump back in the chair and sulk. Do they have to talk about me like I'm not in the room? Mulder catches my look of annoyance and grins.

 

I can hear Skinner in the living room, saying goodbye to his relatives. There's a flurry of hugs and kisses and the front door opens and closes, then the muffled hum of car engines starting in the drive.

 

Skinner steps back into the kitchen, looking about ten feet tall in his plaid shirt and jeans. He returns to Mulder's side and sits down.

 

I look down, my fingers worrying at a hole in the knee of my wet jeans.

 

Mulder takes a deep breath and begins.

 

"We first spotted you back in May. At the Memorial Day party."

 

I whip my head up and gape at him in shock. _May_? I feel my face turning scarlet and look away, newly humiliated. I was so careful, so sure they'd never know. So much for stealth. I scrub a hand over my tired eyes and wish I could just sink into the floor. 

 

Mulder eyes me with concern but continues.

 

"We weren't sure what to do. We didn't know why you came or what you wanted. We decided to wait and see what you did. By the time the party was over, you were gone." Mulder paused. "We didn't think we'd ever see you again. But you kept coming back."

 

"I wanted to confront you, but Fox talked me out of it," Skinner interjected.

 

Mulder nodded. "I explained to him that you needed time. That you needed to feel safe before you'd come forward. We tried to show you that, Alex, tried to show you that there was nothing to fear, but you never made contact."

 

I stare at him in disbelief. 

 

"You knew," I whisper incredulously. "All this time, you knew."

 

Mulder laughs. "Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to march over to those woods and haul your ass in here? I came close a few times, I can tell you. We both did. But we didn't want to spook you. We wanted to let you make the first move. Until tonight, that is. Seeing you out there in the rain…we just couldn't wait anymore. We had to take a chance." 

 

"Damn it, boy, do we have to spell it out for you?" Skinner growls. "All these parties, didn't you notice they got more and more frequent over time? After a while we really had to work to find an excuse for another one. We even had one for Arbor Day, for God's sake."

 

I blink at him. Arbor…? Oh yeah, the thing with the trees. I shrug, embarrassed. I'd never questioned it. The Consortium tried their best to make an American out of me but sometimes the gaps in my knowledge show at the oddest times. 

 

"The Roswell one was my idea," Mulder says, grinning.

 

"We knew the parties would keep you coming back so we made sure to have them regularly," Skinner continues. "It was the only way we could be sure that you were alive and not rotting in a jail cell or bleeding to death in an alley somewhere. We hoped somehow to lure you out of hiding. All you had to do was come to us. But you wouldn't. You'd just sit there and watch and then leave again."

 

Mulder nods. "We've been waiting for you, Alex. Waiting for you to give us something, some sign, anything to let us know that you…" he breaks off and looks away with a shy expression that makes my heart twist in my chest. "That you want what we want."

 

Fuck. I really am in the Twilight Zone. 

 

"What…" I hear myself saying faintly, "what do you want?"

 

Mulder laughs. "You haven't figured it out yet? You. We want you."

 

I sway in the chair, suddenly dizzy. This can't be true. It _can't_. They're handing me everything I've ever dreamed of and instead of feeling happy I feel like throwing up.

 

I look at them in horror. I stand up again and this time the chair does fall over.

 

"No…you can't. You don't mean that."

 

I back up against the wall again, my one arm wrapped around myself.

 

"Alex, it's okay," Mulder says calmly.

 

"No," I choke. "You don't understand." 

 

Please don't look at me like you think I've changed. I haven't changed. I could never change enough.

 

Skinner stands up but Mulder holds up a hand.

 

"It's okay, Walter. Let me."

 

Skinner nods and sits back down, but his eyes are full of concern.

 

Mulder takes a step toward me. He's got that "talk the patient down off the ledge" look and I feel an irrational urge to smack him.

 

Shit. I didn't mean that. I swear I didn't. I'd never hit him. No matter what he does to me, I'd never hit him.

 

"What is it, Alex?" he asks softly. "Were we wrong? Do you want to go?"

 

I shake my head, unable to speak. Scalding tears fill my eyes and threaten to spill over. God, I'm so tired. I don't know how much longer I can do this.

 

"I…" I manage before my throat closes up.

 

"What?" Mulder says again in that soft voice. "It's okay, Alex. You can tell us."

 

I reach into my jacket and pull out the worthless transmitter. I toss it on the table. They look at it and then back at me, uncomprehending.

 

I look down at the floor. I can't look at them when I say it. I don't want to see the betrayal and hatred on their faces. Not again. I don't want to have to watch myself lose something I never even dared dream of, even if I don't deserve it in the first place.

 

"I broke in here," I blurt, my voice shaking. "I broke in when you weren't home and I bugged the place and it was a rotten fucking thing to do and I'm sorry."

 

Mulder moves toward me. I throw my arm up in front of my face and flinch so hard the back of my head smacks the wall.

 

"Not the bedroom," I say quickly, hoping I'll get out of here with my remaining limbs still attached. "I didn't go near it, I swear."

 

Mulder stops in his tracks. The hurt expression on his face is more painful than any beating could ever be.

 

"I said I'm not going to hit you, Alex." He pauses, his eyes darkening with sorrow. "I know that's what you're used to from me, but that's over now. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

 

I shake my head desperately. "Don't say that, Mulder, please." 

 

I can't bear him apologizing to me, not after all I've done. I earned every beating I ever got from him and if he took out his gun and shot me right here in his kitchen, it would be no more than I deserve. I open my mouth to protest again but Mulder shushes me. 

 

"Those days are over, Alex. No more." He smiles and moves a little closer. "As for the bedroom, it's okay. We know. Walter spent a good two hours going through it top to bottom." 

 

Skinner rises to his feet and I press back against the wall, still expecting retribution.

 

"Be glad you left that room alone, boy," he rumbles. "That's the only reason you're not over my knee right now."

 

My mouth drops open. I blush furiously and my cock is instantly hard. I blink at him and wonder why I like it so much when he goes alpha on me.

 

"In fact," Skinner continues ominously, "I'm not so sure you won't end up there anyway, sitting out there in the rain like that. Are you trying to get pneumonia?"

 

"It's not so bad," I say, trying for nonchalant. "Not like Chri-"

 

I break off and my mouth snaps shut. Fuck. Alex, you idiot.

 

They're both staring at me like I've grown a second head.

 

"Christmas?" Skinner says in disbelief. "You were here _Christmas_?"

 

I look at them, panic overtaking me again. I begin edging away along the wall, my eyes darting from Skinner to Mulder and back again.

 

"I didn't do anything. I just watched you through the window. That's all, I swear."

 

"How long were you out there?" Skinner asks through clenched teeth.

 

I swallow hard. I'm tempted to lie but something in Skinner's eyes and the hard set of his jaw makes me stammer out the truth. 

 

"Um…I…Christmas Eve. I watched you, uh, that night and then I watched you open your presents in the morning and then I left."

 

I am so sure that their reaction is due to their total outrage at my having violated their privacy that Skinner's next outburst leaves me totally stunned.

 

"Of all the stupid, reckless, idiotic…" he shouts. "That was the coldest winter in twenty years! What the hell were you thinking?"

 

I try to shrug back into my wiseass persona, ragged though it may be.

 

"Aw, come on, Skinner," I say casually. "I grew up in Siberia."

 

I don't mention my aching knees or the nagging cough I still can't shake.

 

He whirls on me, giving me a look I remember well from when he was an A.D. and I was a little green agent standing on the other side of his desk with my knees knocking. My spine straightens automatically and if I still had two hands, they'd be clasped behind my back just like they were then.

 

"Don't give me that bullshit!" he snaps. He turns and paces back and forth, shaking his head. "To think you would have frozen to death out there rather than just knock on the damn door!"

 

Mulder moves close to him, touches his shoulder gently. "Walter…"

 

Skinner runs a hand over his bald head and drops into the chair, but not before giving me another warning look.

 

"We're going to have a very long talk, boy," he says sternly. "Count on it."

 

I look down. 

 

"Okay," I say meekly. 

 

I don't know who's more surprised, him or me. 

 

Mulder just looks pleased. 

 

"My friends tend to be a little paranoid," he says cheerfully. "So yeah, we found the bugs. Walter and I talked about it – in the bedroom, since you left that alone," he adds with a smirk, " and we decided to leave them. We hoped that maybe you'd like what you heard. That maybe you'd understand it was safe to come to us." He pauses and looks away sadly. "But you wouldn't. You just wouldn't."

 

I look at him helplessly. Oh God, don't look like that, Mulder, _please_ don't. I'm frantic, ready to do anything if he'll just stop looking so fucking wounded.

 

"I'm sorry, Mulder" I say, my voice shaking. "I knew you were together. I didn't expect any different. Then I heard you bought the place and I…I wanted to make sure you were okay after…everything," I say lamely. "I didn't plan on coming back. I just couldn't stay away. I just wanted to…to be near you," I confess, looking down. "I never…I didn't think you'd…"

 

I am so close to breaking down, I'm scaring myself. I take a deep breath and look at him through the tears in my eyes.

 

"If…if you knew I was listening, all this time…" I pause and swallow miserably. I know I sound like a whiny kid but I can't help it. "Why didn't you say something?"

 

Way to go, Alex, you shithead. Are you trying to make this their fault now? 

 

Mulder studies me for a moment. "What would you have thought if we had?"

 

I look down and close my eyes. He already knows the answer. He's just waiting for me to say it.

 

"That it was a trap," I whisper.

 

"And you would have bolted, wouldn't you?" Skinner says.

 

I look up at him. He's right. I would have been in a different time zone before the sun set.

 

"We considered it, Alex, believe me," Mulder says, his eyes holding mine. "But we didn't want to do anything to spook you. We were afraid you'd disappear and we'd never see you again."

 

"And we did try to find you," Skinner says quietly, leaning back in his chair. "We've been searching every motel and apartment building in D.C. for months, looking for you. You don't stay in one place very long, do you?"

 

I stare at him, thunderstruck. The lump in my throat is so big I can hardly breathe, let alone speak.

 

"You…you looked for me?"

 

"We used every trick in the book, called in every favor we had," Mulder says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But you're good, Alex. You were always two steps ahead of us." He gives a lopsided smile and shrugs. "All we found were empty rooms, fake names and a lot of pissed off landlords."

 

I flush and look down, embarrassed. 

 

He looks at me for a long moment, all soft hazel eyes and silence, and then he steps forward and pulls me into his embrace. I startle and try to pull away, not wanting my sodden clothes to touch him, but he gives a little growl of his own and just holds me tighter.

 

I'm shaking all over. I can't stop. I'm so scared this is a dream or some kind of cruel trick and if it is please just let them kill me. If it's a trick I won't survive it. I know this as surely as I'm breathing. If this is taken away from me I will get down on my knees and beg them to finish me.

 

Almost as if he knows what I'm thinking, Mulder murmurs in my ear.

 

"It's real, Alex. Just let it happen."

 

I cling to him, scared to believe but wanting it so bad. Willing to give up everything, anything, to feel his arms around me a little longer.

 

I hear Skinner getting up and crossing the floor, and then he's beside us, his strong arms encircling us both. I lean into them both and six years of loneliness and hurt and guilt come streaming down my cheeks, soaking into Mulder's damp shirt.

 

"It's all right, boy," Skinner says, more softly than I knew he could. "You're home now."

 

That finishes me. I sag against them with a wail and fuck, I can't stop crying. They hold me a long time, until I finally stop sobbing and start hiccupping. I hide my face in Mulder's shoulder, ashamed of bawling my eyes out like a little kid.

 

"Hey," he says softly, ruffling my damp hair. "You in there?"

 

I raise my head, swiping at my swollen eyes. "Yeah," I say sheepishly.

 

Skinner smiles. "All right. Upstairs. Out of those wet clothes and into a hot bath. We'll go and get your things in the morning."

 

They begin to lead me toward the stairs and I hesitate, looking back and forth between them uncertainly.

 

"Just like that?"

 

Mulder grins. "Sure. Why not?"

 

I frown. "But what about…all of it?"

 

"Just let it go, Alex," he says. "We have."

 

"I didn't bring you anything for your birthday," I blurt. 

 

I look at him miserably. It's a hell of a weird thing to fixate on right now but it matters to me.

 

Mulder smiles, just the way he smiles at me in my dreams.

 

"Yes, you did."

 

I've never seen him look this peaceful before. Standing there, Skinner by his side, the both of them holding out a hand to me, waiting for me.

 

I take a deep breath and reach out. 

 

They've waited long enough.

 

 

The End

 

 

Happy Birthday Gaby!


End file.
